


don't laugh (i love you)

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [9]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Biting, Crossdressing Kink, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, M/M, Praise Kink, all that good stuff, dominant-ish dogmeat, kind of a first date too, oh first time saying i love you is in there, submissive-ish ben kissel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 04:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: ben finally gets a chance to try out one of his kinks with marcus





	don't laugh (i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> super self indulgent 
> 
> title comes from ween

“Ben?” 

“Mhm?” Ben is looking down at his phone behind the pile of nachos they’re sharing at their booth table, and he glances up at Marcus, adjusts his black frame glasses. 

“Is this considered a date?”    
  


Normally, Marcus wouldn’t ask these types of things, goes with the flow of it and doesn’t question what their status is, fine being labeless, but tonight is different. They’re in a bar together, across from each other, and Ben had draped his black, unzipped hoodie over Marcus’ shoulders on their walk there, which is new, and when they were trying to find a table, Ben had placed a hand to Marcus’ hip, guiding him just so. That was daring. They’ve never shown affection in public, even something as small as a touch. 

Ben blinks. “Well,” he starts slowly, like he’s uncertain, “if you’d  _ like _ it to be, you could call it that, I suppose. I mean, if you want to go to some place  _ fancier _ , we could do that instead, but I wasn’t sure if what we have is - if it’s in the realm of  _ romantics _ yet so-”

“I asked if this is a date. You’re rambling.” Marcus picks through the chips, finds a decent sized one in the crumbling mess they’ve been hen-pecking at for twenty minutes, and pairs it with an olive. “I just want to know what your thinking is.” 

So far, since their first encounter, which was a drunken makeout session in a hotel after a particularly good live show (roomed only 2 doors down from Henry), they just hang around their apartments, have drinks, play video games, or talk about true crime and politics before one of them initiates whatever it is they’re going to do. There’s nothing showy in it, but tonight, it feels like Ben is really trying at the boyfriend angle and it’s foreign to Marcus. He’s not opposed to being exclusive, but this side of Ben is one he hasn’t seen in this light. He doesn't know what to expect, and he wants to react properly. 

Ben shrugs. “I mean, I guess so? I figured since we’re - since you’re… you’d said you’d  _ indulge _ me tonight…,” Ben trails off, seeming shy, and Marcus understands. 

Marcus snickers, rolls his eyes with a big smile unfolding on his face, because that’s such a Ben Kissel way of thinking, and weirdly sweet, too. “You don’t  _ owe _ me, you know. Certainly not for-for  _ that _ kind of thing.” 

A blush is rising over Ben’s cheeks, noticeable even in the dark of the bar they’re in, the lights dimmed. “You don’t…” Ben shakes his head. “We can talk about that later. And-And this isn’t about  _ owing _ . I thought it would be nice to treat you for once.” 

Ben hasn’t revealed to Marcus yet what his “big, secret kink” is, just talked about letting Ben be in charge of the direction of their fucking, and Marcus is going along with it. It can’t be that bad. Mentally, Marcus has crossed off age play and daddy kinks, since Ben has expressed about a million times how not into that is, ruled out feet because from the foot kinksters Marcus has met, they typically make their kink known early on. Marcus is the kinkster of the group, a bigger toybox than Henry and openly admitting that, given the chance, he’d fuck a RealDoll, so whatever Ben has in mind, it can’t be all that wild.

The gesture is kind, though, the sentiment that Marcus deserves to be treated well, and Marcus actually feels something flutter in his chest, but what comes out instead is, “So you’re wining and dining me?” with a huge, teasing smirk. 

Ben scoffs, goes back to looking down at his phone, Instagram open. “You  _ wish _ , Marcus. This is just a guys night out.” 

“Oh, so what you’re telling me is you suck all your guy friends dicks? You a real masc for masc type, Benjamin? Take them to wrestling shows and let them fuck you after?” 

“If this is how it’s going to be every time I try to be nice to you, we might as well just-”

“I’m joking,” Marcus says, curbing his giggles, and he nudges Ben under the table with his shoe. “This is very… sweet of you, Ben. Thank you.” 

Ben perks into a smile, nudges Marcus back. 

Marcus peoplewatches a couple minutes, surveying the bar and picking out who he thinks probably goes home and hacks up bodies in their apartments, or daydreams of that. No one too interesting. Just the usual crowd, no men in black or aliens in disguise, and he glances back at Ben. He’s texting someone, probably Henry. 

“So, you gonna tell me whatever it is you’ve got planned for tonight?” 

“Uh. Not here…” 

Marcus grins in surprise, raises his eyebrows. “Oh, so it’s like, a crazy fetish? Kind you can’t even bring up in public?” 

Ben pulls a face, clicking his phone off, and putting it away in his pocket, giving Marcus his full attention. “No…! It’s just that I like to keep bedroom stuff… in the bedroom. You know, where it belongs.”

“Bedroom stuff,” Marcus repeats, snickering. “You sound like a 50 year old conserative. And also, since when? Between you, me, and Henry all saying the most obscene stuff for the show, I’m sure there’s enough sex talk to string together an entire hour long audio session.” 

Ben wrinkles his nose. “Don’t make me think of that.”

Marcus shrugs, starts playing footsie with Ben under the table. “Sex work is good money if you have the time for it.”

“With Last Pod, Stream, touring, Tophat drop ins, editing, and everything else, what time do  _ you _ have for sex work?” Ben lists these things off on his fingers. 

“Just giving us career options for the future.” Marcus pins one of Ben’s legs between his two, holds him there. “Besides, you’re getting away from it: we were talkin’ kinks. You won’t even tell me so I can plan ahead? Prepare myself for the true Kissel experience?” 

“Dogmeat…,” Ben sighs, his face starting to burn red again. 

“Oh, you’re Dogmeat-ing me. Must be a doozy.”

Ben is about to say something, trying to casually wiggle his leg away, when their server comes over and asks if they need anything more. Marcus asks for another water, and Ben declines politely, are left alone another minute. 

“It’s… really not  _ all _ that out there,” Ben says softly. “We can talk about it... later.”

“Later as in tonight?” 

Ben nods and Marcus eases his leg free, knees still touching, and their server comes back with a sweating glass of water, sets it next to Marcus. 

“Won’t even give me one little hint?”

Ben shakes his head and he smiles, seeming suddenly brave. “Nope. Total surprise.” 

Marcus nods, leaves it at that, going back to his internal list of possibilities. He assumes Ben is being honest with it being tame, since he feels like Ben would give him the courtesy of warning him if it was something that would rollover into the next day or week, like wax dripping or intense impact play. It excites Marcus, though foreign to be the one who’s not in control, he’s curious and willing, and he finishes his water in one long sip. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Marcus is still wearing Ben’s jacket when they get back to Ben’s apartment, 3 sizes too big, trailing over his wiry frame like a cloak. Ben unlocks the door and they both step inside. Marcus is anxious with anticipation and he looks up at Ben, who licks his lips. 

“Gonna show me in then?” Marcus asks, teasing. 

Ben nods and with an awkward silence between them, they head to his bedroom, Marcus sitting on the edge of the bed while Ben stands around nervously, eyes darting to Marcus then away just as fast. 

“Okay, so what is it? Sex swing? Handcuffs? Like bein’, uh, ignored or something?” 

Ben mutters, “You’re not making this any easier on me,” and crosses the room, goes to his dresser, and opens a drawer.

Marcus cranes his neck up, tries to see what he’s pawing for, thinking maybe a sex toy, a buttplug or a dildo, but when Ben turns around, Marcus blinks. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly. Ben was right: it is fairly tame, but unexpected in how simple it is. “What were you, watching Rocky Horror and got an idea from it?” 

Ben is going red again and he lowers his arms slightly. “I just - Some of the  _ pictures _ you send me! They’re so damn  _ feminine _ and-and it got me thinking…” The bra and panties he’s holding in his hands seem so small, dwarfed by his size. 

“Awh, you were thinking about meee?” Marcus chitters, grinning too wide, and he snickers. “So I’m the one wearing this?” He points at the lingerie, which looks expensive, lace cut and silky, bra cups hemmed with some kind of flowery design. “How do we even know it’ll fit?”

“You… leave shirts around here sometimes and I checked the size and did some comparing and kind of best-guessed it at the store,” Ben explains, as if this is all totally normal, and he shrugs. “I mean, you’re not  _ obligated _ to even wear it, I just-” 

“Nah, I’ll wear it. I’ve done weirder, by far.” Marcus stands and takes the underwear from Ben, rolls it between his fingers, and he stands on his toes, gives Ben a small, cheeky kiss on the mouth. “I’m guessing I’m gonna look… fuckin’ ridiculous, however... I’ll wear it.”

“If I hear you say ‘Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me.’ even  _ once _ , I’m kicking you-”

“I’ll behave.” Marcus stands in the frame of the bathroom, and adds, over his shoulder, “Well, in that aspect I won’t quote Buffalo Bill. No promises for anything else.” And then he closes the door behind him. 

Marcus strips down naked, carefully folding Ben’s jacket over the edge of the sink rather than on the heap on the floor, and holds the bra up to his chest, studying himself in the mirror. The cups are going hanging loose and empty off his body, no breasts to fill them, he’s sure, but maybe that’s part of what Ben is looking forward to. He leaves the bra and panties on the edge of the sink with Ben’s jacket, finds a disposable enema in the medicine cabinet (because they’ve been doing this long enough that it’s procedural), and runs a shower. 

Marcus rinses down, washes with his hair with Ben’s shampoo, and cleans himself out, trying to will himself not to get hard when he’s opening himself to avoid being overly nerved and started when he goes out to see Ben, especially since the panties Ben has picked are merely a strip of fabric that leave nothing to the imagination. 

Out of the shower, he towels off and wrestles into the bra. He has to adjust the straps and clip so they’re at the tightest they can be and even then, it’s not perfectly form fitting. “Jesus, Marcus, what are you doing?” he whispers to himself, smiling at the absurdity of it as he steps into the panties. He looks at himself in the mirror. Wearing a bra makes his arms look too long, ape-like with big, manly hands, and the panties make his legs look too long and knobby, body all stretched and slender and not covered in ways he’s used to. 

Marcus opens the bathroom door and Ben sits up in bed, face ruddied with a thick blush, and both of them open their mouths to speak, but neither do. Marcus blinks, feels himself start to flush at the way Ben’s looking at him, eyes raking up and down his exposed, slender body. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act like this, so far from their regular sex habits. 

“Look good?” he asks, like he’s checking in with a mechanic to see if his engine is in working order.

Ben nods. “Uh. Yeah… Really, really good.” 

Marcus smirks, face scrunched up and cinched, and lifts his arms over his head, swivels his hips in a belly-dancer mimic, switches to his go-to of “acting cute” when put into situations like these. Ben, from his spot on the bed busts out a single laugh, seeming too shocked (or ensorcelled) to react properly as Marcus dances towards him, melting more into the corner of Iggy Pop on stage as he advances. He sits himself down on Ben’s lap, slings his arms around his neck, and leans in close so they’re nose to nose.

“Hiii, Ben,” he whispers.

“Hiii, Marcus,” Ben whispers back, but his voice is shivery. 

“Am I living up to your expectations?” 

Ben tilts his head away so they’re not as close, seeming claustrophobic, and traces the prominent line of Marcus’ collarbone using his index finger. “Oh, absolutely. Big time.” 

“You are aware I don’t have tits, though, right?” With the space now between them, Marcus cups the bra and pretends to fluff his chest, the strap on his shoulder slipping down slightly as he jostles himself. It reminds him of all the times Henry has done that in studio, on stream, and he stops, banishes the thought, drops his hands down between them.

“There’s… There’s something attractive in uh, the flatness,” Ben says softly, sheepish, and he puts a hand to Marcus’ chest, squeezes him as though there is something to grab other than ribs, and after Marcus giggles in surprise, he draws his eyebrows together, quizzical. “Marcus, I mean - Oh, I don’t  _ know _ ! S-Seeing a man in a bra is…! It’s hot for me!” 

Marcus snickers, kisses Ben on the ridge of his jaw. The way Ben groped at him has him hardening, starting to press against the front of his panties, which is a new feeling. “We can discuss your paraphilias later.” Ben is still in his jeans, his shirt, his hoodie, and Marcus feels feral and electric with the need to start peeling back his layers, tugs the zipper down on his sweatshirt. 

“I wouldn’t really call it a paraphilia…,” Ben mutters, adjusting Marcus’ bra strap so it sits properly on his shoulder. 

“I’m not explaining to you the definition of paraphilia right now,” Marcus mumbles. He shucks off Ben’s sweatshirt, starts to yank on his graphic tee, and Ben cooperates, lifts his arms over his head. 

“Okay, whatever, Dogmeat.” 

Marcus smiles, amused, and shuffles off Ben’s lap, unbuttons his jeans, Ben making a noise as soon as Marcus starts to pull down his fly, prompts him to look up and quirk an eyebrow. “This really has you  _ that _ worked up, huh?” he asks, smug, tugging down Ben’s jeans and taking his underwear with it, careful to mind his erection, which springs and slaps up against his lower stomach. “Well, actually. I think I’ve found my answer.” 

Ben groans, head leaning back and bumping against the wall as he exhales. “L-Listen… I’ve just… had a lot of time in my life to consider this and you look… good,” Ben bites out. Even with what little brains about him he’s got, he reaches over to his nightstand, gets the lube, and uncaps it and drizzles some over himself. Ben gathers a good amount on his fingers and goes to grab at Marcus, but Marcus wriggles away.

“Already prepped,” he says, ushering Ben over to the edge of the bed so he’s sitting his with legs hanging off. He climbs into Ben’s lap, hard cock pressed warmly to his ass. 

Somehow, Ben seems to burn even redder and he kisses Marcus, lube bottle discarded absently somewhere in the sheets, all focus on Marcus in his strappy set of red and black lingerie. “Goodness gracious,” he breathes, lips brushing against Marcus’ mouth. 

Marcus reaches behind himself, holds Ben tightly by the base of his cock, and lines himself up. He doesn’t take any time presenting or fluffing, simply pulling his panties aside and sinking himself down roughly, mouth tilted forward to bite sharply into the soft flesh of Ben’s shoulder as he does, bottoming out so he’s seated, snug, in Ben’s lap. 

Ben makes a strangled noise. “Gah…!” He twitches inside of Marcus, a deep, steady thrumming that keeps pace with his pulse, hands cupped, once again, to Marcus’ chest with nothing more to grab than the padded material. 

“Put your arms under my legs. I need leverage,” Marcus instructs, swiveling his hips, and Ben kisses at his throat, complies without question. 

“You look… pretty, Marcus,” he breathes. 

Marcus rocks himself carefully, lifts himself as high as he can in this position to fuck himself sloppily on Ben’s cock, and says, “I know.” He bites further up on Ben’s shoulder, near the crook of his neck, and sucks some skin into his mouth to ensure he’ll leave a mark. “And you’re a good boy, Ben, fucking me so well like this.” 

Ben practically whimpers, digs his large fingers into Marcus’ pale hips. “Thank you,” he mewls, starting to snap his hips up, hysterical with his want, driving deeply into Marcus, and he finds the right place, makes Marcus twitch and spasm like he’s been electrocuted. 

Any other day, Marcus would scold Ben, tell him not to thrust or rut unless told, but it’s obvious how eager he is, fingers twirling over the lace trim of his panties, (which Marcus is most certainly staining with streaks of precum) so Marcus lets it happen: arms wrapped around Ben to keep himself steady, trying to time things right so he grinds down to meet Ben’s movements, teeth gritted to avoid making any overly embarrassing, highly feminine noises. 

“Such a good boy, Ben,” Marcus continues, voice broken, tongue laving over the bites he’s ringed into Ben’s shoulder and neck, small circles of fresh teeth imprints and a couple purpling hickeys. “Giving me your cock like this. You like pleasing me, don’t you, Ben? Like being nothing more than a toy I use, don’t you?” 

Ben makes a mindless yet affirmative noise, shifting the way he’s got Marcus held under his thighs, drills into him at another angle. “Y-Yes,” he pants. 

Marcus, with slim, shaking fingers, directs Ben’s mouth to his and they kiss in messy desperation, haphazardly pressing lips into each other, less traditional kissing and more so licking and breathing into each other with an animalistic desire. “Precious thing,” Marcus whispers during breaks, hands to either side of Ben’s face. “Take my cock into your hands, Ben. And don’t you  _ dare _ finish before me.” He’s nearly perfected his steady, almost-threatening dominant voice, but Ben is really hitting into him, skin to skin making a pleasant slapping, and his tone pitches during it, high and tinny. 

Ben listens and blindly gropes over the front of the panties with one hand, other still cupped under his thigh to keep him in place, finds Marcus sticking out of them, cock heavy and warm, and he strokes him eagerly, kissing into his mouth. “‘M close,” he whines, eyebrows together, eyes snapped shut tightly. 

“ _ Not _ yet… Almost there…” Marcus arches back and watches Ben intensely, shudders seeing him flushed and just a little bit sweaty, glasses crooked over his nose, mouth parted to moan quietly. He pushes Ben’s hand aside, his stomach clenching, balls heavy, and jerks himself, frantic and frenzied, and he cums, hitting Ben’s stomach, dribbles down his own thighs, streaks his panties, clenching like a vice around Ben who makes a gutted noise as Marcus, half delirious, mutters praise. 

“Cum, Ben, you can cum,” he sputters, going limp in Ben’s arms, head to his shoulder. 

Ben doesn’t need more prompting, holds Marcus tightly and hammers into him, almost too much, almost painfully, and he cums in Marcus, groaning and shivering, repeating his name over and over, “Oh, God, Marcus, oh God.” Marcus fills with warmth, sighs at the feeling and tired, quietly praises Ben. 

Ben lifts Marcus up to pull himself out and he grabs some tissues from the nightstand, wipes Marcus off, tosses the soiled tissues on the floor. Marcus curls up in the bed, his bra sweaty, panties still sticky, hair flopping into his face and he pats the space next to him. Ben lies down. He throws an arm over Marcus and pulls him close, rests a hand over Marcus’ heart, over the left cup of his bra. 

“Wow,” Ben breathes.

“Wow indeed,” Marcus agrees, and he smiles over at Ben, catching his eye. 

Ben nuzzles into him, the lover of the two, always wanting to cuddle and be close after sex, and deep down, Marcus enjoys it. “That was… a lot,” Ben says softly. 

Marcus is sore, won’t be able to sit properly for a few days, he’s sure, gonna have to lie and say he slipped and bruised his ass if Henry notices him wincing. “Mmm. I think we should indulge your paraphilias more often if it’s going to end up like this.” 

Ben chuckles, squeezes Marcus, who flicks on the TV and throws on The Twilight Zone. “No pressure to,” he says softly, casting a blanket over them both. 

Marcus says, “No pressure to. Well, I do love you, you know, I don’t feel pressured. Didn’t feel pressured to get up in this, did I?” Marcus slaps one of the straps of his bra, which thwacks on his skin loudly. 

“Did you just say you love me?” Ben asks, voice excited, grip on Marcus’ chest tightening, and Marcus goes red, slinks down further into the blanket, heart rate spiking.

“Go to sleep, Ben, you’re delirious with kink thoughts,” he mutters, embarrassed at how that “I love you” just happened to slip out, and Ben snickers, doesn’t push any further. 

After a minute, Ben whispers, “I love you, too, Dogmeat,” and they leave it at that, blissful in their silence, only sliced by their steady breathing and the dull hum of the television as it flickers black and white over their faces. 

**Author's Note:**

> whoops i got them to say i love you 
> 
> kudos + comments are appreciated!
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


End file.
